


Flowered Lungs

by taeminki



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminki/pseuds/taeminki
Summary: Jisung's love, in its entirety, was a sea of pinks, whites, and yellows, with some splotches of red intensity.





	Flowered Lungs

h-a-n-a-h-a-k-i- -d-i-s-e-a-s-e

Jisung typed each letter with precision, knowing his fingers would protest if he had to move to hit _backspace_  at any point. His body was protesting even picking up his phone to type in the words. His body protested a lot of things lately, like the steady beat of his own heart and the flower from within. Jisung had enough willpower, though, to keep on pushing through his days. He had enough willpower to go strong until he suffocated.

Jisung scrolled slowly through the results brought to him by his search. He was unable to hold his phone after ten minutes of clicking through various websites, so he planted his feet against the ground and pressed his legs together so that they could carry the weight of his phone; and he bunched up the extra fabric of his extra large hoodie so the phone had a place to rest, so that it didn't slide all the way down against his stomach, where Jisung would no longer be able to see it well-- though his tired head hung so low, he might be able to catch a decent glimpse of it down there.

Ten more minutes of searching got Jisung nowhere. He landed on another page of flower meanings, and another page of treatment options, and then more flower meanings and then the definition of Hanahaki-- and if Jisung had to read one more _get surgery now!_  he might toss his phone into the toilet with his flower petals. He peeked into the dirty water again and counted the different types of petals he saw. There were five-- tulips, roses, lilacs, snapdragons, and daisies. The tulips were yellow, and belonged to the person Jisung loved. He thought it was Changbin, but his mind was so tired he'd long since forgotten. His heart seemed to tug and pine for everyone, now. Jisung remembered reading a brief theory that a certain strain of Hanahaki-- the deadliest-- might produce flowers for other people the victim loved-- loves that weren't unrequited, but simply rest on a meaningful level of friendship. He could no longer find that article, though-- or was it a blog post? A comment? It was lost in the sea of internet searches and results, and Jisung was on his own again.

Jisung remembered his doctor telling him he had contracted _one_  of the deadliest strains of Hanahaki. Whether or not he had contracted _the_  deadliest, Jisung didn't know. His doctor told him it was possible for his disease to develop, and become the kind of deadly that killed someone in days. He told Jisung to get the surgery, and forget his love. Jisung hadn't seen his doctor in weeks.

Ten _more_  minutes of searching had Jisung giving up. He took a mental note of the flowers in the dirty water-- their color and their symbolism, and he flushed them down. He shakily grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled himself to his feet. He leaned against the counter and stared at himself in the mirror for a moment. He'd gotten thinner, he noticed. His eyes were tired, and his skin wasn't as clear as he'd tried to maintain. He couldn't remember the last time he'd properly washed his face. He knew he splashed himself with water at least three times a day-- just to keep himself awake. His coughing often woke him in the night, forcing him to topple out of bed and lock himself in any vacant room until he could escape the spasms of his chest. His members didn't know, but they were catching on. They would know soon enough, because _everyone_  made the flowers go wild; _everyone_  forced petals from Jisung's throat. The disease was so rare, though, and so strange-- what if they kicked him out? Jisung had fought for this for so long--he couldn't let love get in his way.

(But he was; he _was_  letting love get in his way, because he was letting love win health; and the flowers could kill him one day, and Jisung refused to get the surgery that would save his life. So-- yes-- love was getting in his way.)

Jisung dragged himself back to his room. He flopped stomach-down on his bed, buried his face in his pillow. He could barely breathe, but he was used to that; and he drifted off in comfort, knowing it was his own fault and his own choice, this time, to not breathe.

 

 

 

 

  
Jisung woke up gently-- with gentle touches and gentle words-- gentle Minho gently rubbing his back and gently telling him that he'd left his phone in the bathroom last night and gently asking him if he was okay. All of that was replaced by rough retching in seconds-- when Minho's gentle nature registered with Jisung and he sprang to his feet and ran to the bathroom, locked himself in there and threw up his petals. They were pink; Jisung noticed that first. It took his tired brain a little bit of time to recognize the petals-- snapdragons. _The snapdragons belong to Minho_. Jisung would have to remember that later, and write it down in the small list he kept. He'd only made three certain connections-- that his yellow tulips were Changbin's (and he coughed up a few just a moment later, adding to the pink of the snapdragons that scattered the floor, covering the gentle sound of Minho knocking and asking him if he was alright), the yellow roses were Felix's, and the yellow sunflowers were Chan's. It was nice to add a pink flower to his yellow knowledge; it was nice to see something other than symbolic cheerfulness when he didn't feel very cheerful at all.

"I'm okay," Jisung muttered, but he was too quiet to be heard so Minho kept knocking. Jisung stretched out his arms to gather the petals. He didn't feel as tired today as he had the past couple of days. His energy was slowly coming back to him; but Jisung knew the cycle all too well. His energy would creep to its peak, and then it would all come crashing down. Jisung didn't know how many more times he could fake sickness before his members banned together and forced him to tell. He knew they wouldn't fall for it much longer. Jisung just hoped he could figure things out before then-- a convincing excuse, a way to make the Hanahaki go away. (Morbidly, he thought he would swallow enough poison to kill the flower before he would let his members find out.)

It took Jisung a minute to gather all the petals. He tossed them into the garbage, and rolled out enough toilet paper to cover them up, and then he opened the door for Minho. Minho was standing there with wide, worried eyes; his hand touched Jisung's cheek, and Jisung wanted to whimper. He closed his eyes and he felt the tug but he'd gotten better about forcing his flowers to calm down. When he was taken at such an unaware time in the morning, though-- when he was still half-asleep and barely had his wits about him, he couldn't possibly fight the forces of love.

"What's going on? Are you _still_  sick?" Minho asked. Jisung nodded, and Minho sighed, "That's the seventh or eighth time this year, and it's only April."

"I'm sorry." Jisung muttered. Minho shook his head-- almost disappointed, except he pulled Jisung into a hug and just held him to his chest for a moment, and Jisung knew he wasn't disappointed. He was worried. He was sick with the worry-- a soft sniffle arose from his emotion, and Jisung held onto the back of his shirt with weak hands. He held onto Minho like a lifeline for a moment; and Minho didn't even realize how important this was to Jisung-- how important it was to know his members still loved him. He'd gotten into his own head so much; he was a mess of jumbled _they're going to hate me one day_ s and _this may be the last time I hug him_ s that moments like these were really valuable.

\-- even if they only lasted a couple of seconds

 

 

 

 

 

Jisung was "sick" for the ninth time since January, and Felix found out.

It was inevitable. Jisung had stopped fooling himself into believing that he could hide such a horrible illness from _eight_  roommates. Rather, he had started counting out imaginary scenarios-- trying to calculate who would find out first, how they would react, when and where they would find out-- at night? in the morning? on a weekday? at home? in the city? Jisung was crying, and he was on his knees on the bathroom floor, and he was just starting to wonder if he should tell the members on his own account when Felix walked by the bathroom and knocked, and asked, "Hello? Who's crying? Jisung?" and he opened the door because of course Jisung hadn't locked it; it was three in the morning-- of course someone had to be up so late on the one night Jisung hadn't bothered to lock the door.

Felix's reaction was entirely shock, though the worry seeped in through the cracks and that much was to be expected (because the members still love you, Jisung told himself). He fell to his knees next to Jisung, and he immediately opened his arms. Jisung sank into his chest, his sobs hardly ceasing as he curled up in Felix's arms. His legs lay lazily across the ground, his sweatpants soaking up some of the droplets of blood on the ground. Jisung had started to _bleed_. He thought the roses might be poking holes into his lungs. He tried to remember-- who did the roses belong to? Who was tearing at him so badly that he was _bleeding?_

Felix cried with him. He didn't even understand entirely what was going on, but his teardrops soaked into Jisung's hair and rolled across his cheeks, mixing with his own. Felix held him close-- his arms captured Jisung's upper body and held him together. His mouth touched Jisung's hair, pursing occasionally to comfort him with kisses. His nose touched Jisung's hair, and he breathed in slowly, ignoring the ticking of Jisung's chestnut strands. The two of them stay like that for a while, because Jisung was too weak to talk and Felix had no idea what to say, the shock halting all other options of reacting. Eventually, though, he came to, and he asked, "Does anyone know about this?"

"You do." Jisung muttered. Felix couldn't laugh at the little joke. His hand slowly started to move up and down Jisung's arm, "Anyone else?"

"I do."

"Anyone else?"

"No." Jisung muttered. He looked at the petals-- the yellow tulips of his hopeless love for Seo Changbin, and he couldn't believe he'd nearly forgotten he was in love with Changbin a while back. He remembered the night well-- the frustrating search for Hanahaki, and the five different types of petals. His mind was so muddled that night; but he didn't think he'd ever truly forget he loved Seo Changbin -- unless he got that god-awful surgery, that could sometimes remove the feeling of love entirely-- if the flowers were cruel enough. (Jisung's flowers were cruel enough. Jisung didn't doubt his flowers would rip his heart right out of his chest through the removal process.)

"It's our secret, then." Felix said. Jisung was a bit surprised at the answer, but not entirely. Felix knew Jisung well enough to know that if Jisung hadn't told anyone thus far, it wasn't his plan to do so. Felix pulled Jisung to sit up fully-- rather than bruise his hip against the ground with all of his weight on it. He turned Jisung's face to look at him. He studied it for a moment, and laughed softly-- sad, and bittersweet, "How long have you been suffering alone?"

"Up until now." Jisung shrugged. Anyone else would get frustrated at Jisung's ambiguous answers, but Felix was a mix of joyful and protective, and even when his mood was down like this that joy couldn't go away; it turned to patience instead, "Where was the beginning?"

"New Year's." Jisung laughed a little, and rubbed his tears away from his eyes. He mumbled, "What a way to start the year, right?" with a bitter laugh to accompany his frustration, and his headache. Felix picked through his strands, trying to comfort him. He was shaking; it had reached his voice, as well, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Someone's going to hate me." Jisung muttered. He tried to breathe through his words, but he felt a panic tear at his heart and became breathless halfway through-- "At first, I thought someone would want me kicked from the group, so I kept it a secret. Then, I thought someone would hate me for keeping it to myself for so long-- but it was already too late to try to redeem myself--"

"Breathe." Felix told him simply, and Jisung did. Felix took over speaking, "Why would any of that happen? I don't hate you. I couldn't hate you."

"I can't take that chance with seven other people." Jisung said. His voice had dropped to a whisper with lack of breath. Felix understood; he seemed to, at least. He considered Jisung's statement and Jisung thought he might leave it at that, so he started for some toilet paper to clean up the floor. Felix grabbed his hand, though-- stopped him from performing any other action, "You know we all love you, right?"

"Maybe not enough." Jisung said. Felix tilted his head, confused. Jisung gestured to the petals on the ground, "Don't you get it?"

Felix shook his head. Jisung stared at him for some time, incredulous. Didn't he see the petals? They _were_  real, right? Jisung hadn't gone that far out of his mind, had he?

"I threw them up. There's a flower in me, Felix-- a lot of them now that it's gotten worse. Hanahaki Disease-- I have it." Jisung said. Felix looked more and more lost the more Jisung talked; so Jisung pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to Felix. As soon as Felix put Jisung's pass-code in, a page all about Hanahaki came up on the screen. There were always Hanahaki articles open on Jisung's phone; and they would always be among the first things to pop up.

"I thought--" Felix frowned, "I thought it was just-- the blood-- I thought you were bleeding-- I thought I could just-- take you to the doctor--" Felix gulped. He looked at the petals, and Jisung's darkening phone screen. He put Jisung's phone down, and more tears started down his cheeks as he looked to the sick man, "Jisung, I-- I can't keep _this_  a secret-- we _have_  to tell the others."

"I _can't_ , Felix!" Jisung said, pounding his palm against the ground, "They're going to _hate me_ , Felix! I wouldn't be surprised if _you_  started to hate me right now!"

Jisung was so frustrated, and so out of his tired mind. He banged his fists against the ground; he threw a tantrum; he caused a ruckus; all his built-up anger burst out of him. He screamed at Felix, though he didn't mean to take his frustrations out on him-- on anyone-- "You weren't supposed to know! _No one_  was! I was supposed to deal with it by myself! I was going to find my own cure! I did hours and _hours_  of research-- restless nights and _fruitless_  information and all I found out was that I was going to _die!_ "

Felix was sobbing by the time someone came around to stop Jisung from screaming. It just so happened to be Changbin, with Chan hot on his heels. Changbin went to Jisung, who was now on his feet, stomping them into the ground. Jisung fought off his arms, fought off his touch, didn't even register it was him for a moment-- "No! Leave me alone! Your love hurts! It _hurts!_ " but then he heard Changbin's voice-- gentle words despite having a high volume, "Jisung! Jisung, it's okay! Calm down, it's okay!" and it _wasn't_  okay. Changbin was holding his waist-- wasn't trapping his arms because they were glued to his side anyway, with fists at the end. Changbin was simply holding him, trying to talk him down. His voice sent a shiver down Jisung's back; his voice wrenched Jisung's heart, and suddenly his throat was contracting and his lungs were closing up, and he was bending forward and flowers were erupting from his throat. Changbin yelled at the shock, his hands losing their grip on Jisung's waist. Jisung pitched forward, hands and knees hitting the ground roughly. Chan pulled Felix quickly from the flowers-- the shock of the yellow tulips forcing everyone as far away as possible. However, the worry overtook the shock; and while Felix sobbed and averted his eyes, Chan and Changbin moved forward-- Changbin, with his arms around Jisung, and Chan, with his knees in Jisung's bloodied petals.

" _Jisung_ ," Chan said breathlessly, looking in shock at all the petals. He looked at Changbin, and Jisung was sure Changbin looked at him, too. Changbin had a tight grip on his shoulder-- palm against the back, fingers curled over the front. His other hand was holding Jisung's bicep. His shoulder touched the back of Jisung's; his worry was evident by the tense of his body. The other members had begun to wake, but Chan didn't let them all in, didn't let them all see. He sent Felix out, told him not to tell anyone and to get himself some water, and try to calm down-- and close the door on the way out and tell everyone to stay out. Felix did all of those things, presumably. Jisung only _saw_  him leave and close the door. He heard confused murmurs outside, but Chan was speaking over them, "Jisung...."

Jisung had never caught Chan speechless before-- not in a grave situation like this. There were times he and the members were praised so highly that he couldn't stutter out anything other than "Th-- Thank you," and "We'll work-- work harder," but in bad situations, he knew what to do. When Minho and Changbin almost got into a fist-fight; when Seungmin broke his arm; when they lost Woojin in Japan; he always knew what to say, and what to do. Now? He seemed unable.

Jisung took the initiative, as he'd considered doing before Felix caught him red-handed, "It's Hanahaki. I've had it for... three months. I have a deadly strain, and...." Jisung's voice cracked at the end. The floodgates were opening again, and he fell weakly back onto his hands, which he then used to support himself, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Chan asked. Jisung heard him say a million things next-- "You should be more than _sorry_. I can't believe you would keep this from us. This is a huge deal, Jisung. You've really been hiding something like _this_  from us? Don't we matter to you, Jisung? We could have helped you," and he heard Changbin say, "You're riddled with Hanahaki? You _love_  one of us? You're disgusting--" and Jisung retched, and a few more petals fell from his lips. They were red, Jisung thought, except they weren't-- they were yellow petals with blood dripping from them. Chan gasped, and Changbin did, too; and it was then that Jisung realized everything they'd said was in his head-- but he couldn't imagine what they would _actually_  say would be much better.

"We need to go to the hospital." Chan's statement was final, conclusive. He began to stand, and Changbin began to, as well. He gently brought Jisung to his feet, but Jisung fought out of his grip. He fought weakly, and pathetically, and he ended up twisting himself out of Changbin's grip right onto the floor. Changbin worried-- "Jisung!" but Jisung kicked away from him, "No. Leave me alone-- leave me alone-- I'm not going."

"Jisung, why are you acting like this?" Changbin asked, and Jisung heard anger in his voice that made him cry, and retch, and spit more blood yellow petals into his hand. Chan sat down next to Jisung, and comforted a hand over his ear, over his shoulder, "Jisung, this is _serious_. We have to get you to a doctor."

"I've been to one." Jisung said, "He told me I had a really deadly strain-- probably _the_  deadliest by now. I throw up flowers for my love, but I also throw them up for everyone else. All my friends. Tulips for Changbin. Sunflowers for you, hyung. Roses for Felix. Snapdragons for Minho. Daisies... primroses... lilacs... carnations.... Woojin, and Jeongin, and Seungmin, and Hyunjin."

Jisung wiped the tears from his eyes, and the blood from his lip, and lied through his teeth, "There's nothing I can do about it."

"Surgery?" Chan suggested, "It's going to cost a lot but we'll figure it out."

Jisung felt so horrible for lying; he barely covered up a whimper at his own words, "At this point, no. It's been too deadly for too long, hyung. I won't make it."

Changbin turned his back to Jisung with a horrible cry. His hand was on his hip; his other hand was hidden in front of his face, likely covering his trembling lips to keep from crying out again. Changbin hated to cry loudly-- yet Jisung heard his loud, uncontrollable sobbing, and retched; and Changbin sobbed even louder, and Jisung was sent into a coughing fit. Blood, blood-- and more blood-- and Chan cried, too, and held him, and Jisung threw up yellow sunflowers for him and yellow tulips for Changbin and each one was stained red.

"There _has_  to be something we can do, Jisung." Chan said. He lifted Jisung's face. There was so much pain written into Chan's expression. He fought tooth-and-nail for Jisung-- for everyone. He fought to keep them together and it broke him when they were apart-- and that was only in competition. In life, and in _death_ , it was so much worse. Chan had unreadable eyes but a perfectly readable expression-- guilt, and some frustration, but _so much_  desperation-- "We can't just give up like this. We _have_  to be able to do something-- we _have_  to go to the hospital."

"No. I don't-- I've been there too much," Jisung lied again. He pulled his hand from Chan's grip, "Please just-- leave me alone."

"Not if you're going to die," Chan whispered, his hand on Jisung's shoulder, "If you're going to die like this, I'm never leaving you alone again."

Jisung was pulled into a hug. He felt a numbness take over his body. He looked at Changbin, because-- apart from the petals and the blood-- he was the only colorful thing left to look at. He was dressed in all black and white, and he had a melancholy attitude about him, now, but there was still so much color to his back-- yellow petals floating around him, and Jisung was stuck in a daydream, in which he pined for Changbin even with Changbin so close, and his stomach fluttered with butterflies instead of flower petals, and he thought of the symbolic cheerfulness his flowers gave his love and he knew he would never be able to give this up.

"I hate this," Changbin said. He broke the daydream when he turned, but he erupted within Jisung a plethora of feelings-- of his heart lifting to his throat and the petals jumping away from the burst of love, for once. Changbin crashed to his knees and wormed his way into Jisung's arms, gently shoving Chan aside. He fell into Jisung much like Jisung had fallen into Felix earlier-- with no hope, and no strength, and too much emotion for him to handle. He cried against Jisung's shoulder, and held him tightly, "You can't die. You can't die. You _can't_."

 _I can, and I will_. "I'm sorry."

 

 

 

 

 

The next day was filled with even more tears. It wouldn't have felt strange if Jisung didn't have so much more energy than he had the day before. He fell asleep in Chan's room, with Changbin greedily making room for himself and Jisung feeling like he was going to suffocate between them. They weren't in the same bed; hell, Jisung even had a bunk bed to himself, but he could feel their worry boring into him through stares. His back faced them, because he couldn't stand to watch them grieve over him as he fell asleep. He woke with energy but some sadness; and he hated that he'd doomed himself to die, because he meant to make the most out of the rare days he had energy, but it felt like he was walking around with an expiration date on his forehead, the way everyone was looking at him.

"I'm fine," Jisung brought up when they were in the car, on their way to work. Everyone looked to him, and Jisung shied away from their worry. He looked at his shoes, and began to mumble, "I mean... I feel good today. I'm not-- you don't have to act different. I don't... _want_  you to act different."

They took in what he said and tried _not_  to act different, but Jisung couldn't help but notice all the sniffling around the room-- the red eyes and the heavy atmosphere. He couldn't help but notice how no one would touch him-- and when they would, it was as if he was made of hot glass; they would retract their fingers like he'd burned them. Jisung didn't know what Chan told them. He could imagine he told them everything he'd looked up; Jisung could hardly ignore the furious typing into his computer last night-- which definitely was _not_  lyrical genius--even Chan didn't think of lyrics _that_  fast. He was sure Chan had told them that touching him would spark a reaction from the flowers; he was sure Chan told them any sort of affection toward him would spark a reaction -- but if he also told them he was going to die, then they were scattered somewhere between _love Jisung because he's going to die_ and _don't love Jisung because he'll die_  and they had no idea where to stand.

Jisung lay on the ground after running through the choreography for about two hours. They were on a little break-- taking five minutes to catch their breath, get some water, run through whatever they were struggling on, and think of any new ideas to progress their choreography. A little voice asked, "Jisung-hyung?" and Jisung opened his eyes to Jeongin standing above him. Jisung smiled at him, and waved a little bit; and Jeongin dropped slowly to his knees. He pointed at Jisung's stomach, and angrily said "Don't hurt him!" before he lay down on Jisung's stomach and held his hand. He was laughing a bit-- knew how ridiculous it was to talk to Jisung's flowers; and it humored Jisung, too. He assured Jeongin, "I can control them for the most part-- as long as I'm not tired."

"Chan-hyung said you had a different flower for each of us?" Jeongin asked, curious eyes blinking at Jisung's face. Jisung nodded. Jeongin asked, shyly, "What's mine? Chan-hyung didn't remember."

"I have a pink primrose for you, Jeongin." Jisung said. Jeongin's cheeks flushed the same color as the petals when they weren't stained with blood, and he said "That's my favorite!" and Jisung laughed a bit, "They're symbolic, you know. All the flowers represent the kind of love I have in my relationship with each of you. Ours is youthful."

"Because we're young?" Jeongin guessed, and Jisung nodded, "Yes. Our relationship isn't totally mature, and neither are we-- so our love is youthful. It might change, the more we grow. You could upgrade to lilacs, or roses."

"Do you have those flowers too, hyung?" Jeongin asked, and Jisung nodded, "White lilacs for Seungmin, and yellow roses for Felix."

"Which flower do you have for your love?" Jeongin asked, and then he frowned, "You do love someone, right? That's why you have Ha-- Han-- Han-- a--?"

"Hanahaki." Jisung said it slowly for him, and Jeongin repeated it once-- twice-- thrice-- faster each time until he got it. Jisung confirmed, "Yes. I have Hanahaki because I love someone, but he doesn't love me."

"But we _all_  love you." Jeongin said, frowning. Jisung shook his head, "Not enough, I guess. It's unrequited love. I really fell for this person, and it manifested within me as a flower. I read that that meant I was desperate for his love-- so much that I'd rather die than be without him."

"That's a little bit romantic." Jeongin said. He sighed, his features dropping to sadness, "Why do you have to fall in love in such a pretty way, hyung? Why doesn't he love you, too? He's such an idiot."

"He loves me, just not enough for my greedy heart." Jisung said. Jeongin frowned, and he began to mutter, "You're not greedy... you deserve to be loved as much as you want to.... I wish it was me, hyung, so I could love you to the moon and back and you wouldn't have to worry about dying so young."

Jisung thought about his youthful love with Jeongin-- and _to the moon and back_ \-- and he giggled a bit, "Thank you, Jeongin, but-- it's okay. Hyung will be okay. I've held on for this long, I can hold on for a little while longer."

"We're on again in a couple seconds." Changbin came by to inform Jisung and Jeongin. Jeongin started to stand, and Changbin held out a hand to help him up. Jeongin smiled at Jisung, and told him "Let's do this, hyung!" before he started for the middle of the room. Jisung smiled at his retreating form. He suddenly didn't want to get up from the floor. He suddenly wanted Jeongin back, because his head had been warm against Jisung's stomach and Jisung liked the feeling of warmth in an area that was so often in pain.

Changbin held his hand out, though, and Jisung couldn't lay on the floor when Changbin wanted him to stand. Jisung grabbed for him, and Changbin started to help him up, holding a hand behind his back as well-- extra support should his weak body decide to topple over. Changbin didn't let go when he was steady on his feet, didn't let go when Jisung started to talk away. He kept Jisung's hand and he kept Jisung's body near his, and he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Jisung said, but his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, and he accidentally coughed up a petal when the back of his throat tickled. It was that of a red tulip, except it wasn't dripping with blood--it was just red. Jisung was shocked at it for a moment, because Changbin's tulips had always been yellow, but he tried not to dwell on it too much-- didn't want Changbin to catch on, and become even more worried -- so he laughed it off, and crumpled it, and threw it into his pocket, "That doesn't get any less gross."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Changbin asked, and Jisung nodded, tried to be cheerful-- "As okay as I'll ever be!"

That didn't make Changbin feel better, but Hyunjin was calling everyone over so they could learn the new move-- thought of by Jeongin. Jeongin said it was inspired by Jisung-- pointing at him with a pretty smile on his face. The move consisted of fluttering their fingers from their hip to their stomach, representative of flowers-- with their thumbs tucked into their palm so that only eight little petals showed. Jisung's stomach churned.

 

 

 

 

 

"It says that people can get surgery," Woojin said. He had resided in Jisung's bed; and he was laying on his stomach next to Jisung, scrolling through countless articles about Hanahaki Disease-- all of which Jisung had read. Jisung was trying not to be short with Woojin, but he was having a weak day and he didn't want Woojin to worry over him because he could practically feel Woojin's flower producing more petals and it was making him uncomfortable.

"Not with a strain as deadly as mine, hyung," Jisung lied lazily. He slung his arm over his eyes and sighed into the open air. Woojin didn't say anything for a few minutes, and then he groaned, "I can't find anything about people with deadly strains."

"That's because they all _die_ , Woojin." Jisung said shortly. It took him a moment to realize just _how_  short the statement had been-- how blunt and inconsiderate. He looked at Woojin, and wasn't surprised to see Woojin crying. He rolled onto his side, slung an arm over Woojin's back, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so short."

"I'm sorry we keep trying to give you hope." Woojin said, and Jisung thought it was a snide remark for a moment, but Woojin continued, "I mean-- you must have searched so long for hope, and here we come along, barely knowing anything about what you're going through, and trying to search for answers in all the places you already have. We're making you restless, aren't we?"

"No." Jisung said, and he was honest. He wasn't as _restless_  as he was _tired_ , and while they may be similar they weren't exactly the same. Jisung wasn't waiting for sleep; he was wishing for it. He was too busy pining for love to pine for sleep; so he was simply tired, because he knew it would come along, and he didn't wait. He simply wished.

"I just don't want to lose you." Woojin muttered, tracing the pillow beneath his head. He looked at Jisung, "Could you tell me who it is? That you love, I mean."

"It won't make a difference." Jisung said. Woojin thought for a minute; he seemed like he might argue, except he didn't. He lay his head against the pillow and sighed; he turned and slung his arm over Jisung, too. He asked, "It _is_  one of us, right?"

"Yes."

"It's-- is it-- me?"

"No, hyung. I'm sorry, I don't love you like that."

"Good. No, I mean-- I don't-- love you-- like that-- either--" Woojin played with his fingers. He looked at them, and then at Jisung, and then at his fingers again, and at Jisung, "I'm sorry for asking."

"Don't be." Jisung said. He moved to cuddle against Woojin's chest-- as well as he could with them both laying on their sides. His forehead rest against Woojin's heartbeat, and he once again suffocated himself, using Woojin's jacket to do so, and felt empowered by his self-demise, "It means a lot that you ask. It means a lot that you care."

"I don't like to put a death sentence on you, or give up hope--" Woojin started, and Jisung thought _I did that to myself_ , but he didn't say it-- "but I'm afraid if I don't tell you, I'll miss the chance, so... I-- I'm going to miss you a lot, when you-- I mean-- I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too." Jisung smiled a little, though Woojin couldn't see-- through the dark, or through his chest-- "Just don't forget about me, okay?"

"I could never."

Not much time passed before Seungmin joined them in bed. Woojin was asleep, but Jisung couldn't find himself to copy his state. He was wide awake-- and even more so when the door creaked open and Seungmin entered the room. Jisung sat up, and Seungmin froze. He asked, quietly, "Did I wake you?" and Jisung shook his head softly. Seungmin crawled into bed-- couldn't find a space for himself so he invaded Jisung's. He crawled right over him and stopped at his stomach, and Jisung reminisced his earlier moment with Jeongin, when Jeongin settled himself onto Jisung's stomach. Seungmin gently pushed Jisung to lay back down, head on his chest at first-- but he carefully crawled down to his waist and settled. He tucked his hands under Jisung's back, and closed his eyes. Jisung played with his hair.

"Does it hurt, Jisung? When we touch you?" Seungmin asked. Jisung thought for a moment. _Sometimes_ , but it was usually only when Changbin touched him that he really felt _pain_. Other than that, he was simply uncomfortable-- so his answer was somewhat truthful, "No."

"So I can hold you all I want?" Seungmin asked delicately, like a rough answer would permanently break his voice. Jisung almost said _Until I die, yes_ , but he didn't want to make that mistake again, so he bit his tongue, and thought over his words, and came up with something decent-- "Yes, all you want."

 

 

 

 

 

Jisung was home by himself when he came closer to death than he'd ever been before.

He was home by himself for an hour, at least, but Changbin came back after that. Jisung's stomach lurched in more ways than one-- because Changbin was angry, had barreled his way into the dorm and had slammed the door behind him. He stalked over to Jisung, and Jisung's stomach churned at the sight of him, but the fear suppressed the flower, because his flower was a coward.

"I talked to your doctor." Changbin said, and Jisung's heart dropped, joining the flowers in his stomach. He parted his lips, and tried to stutter his way through an explanation. Changbin barely let him get a few breaths out, "All this time, you could have gotten surgery? All this time, we've been preparing ourselves for your death, and you could have saved yourself? You lied to us?"

Changbin was angry; that much was obvious, but he was also sad-- a mix that made him _upset_ , with a tight jaw and tears streaming down his cheeks. He tapped his foot impatiently, but Jisung didn't say anything. He couldn't think of anything to say-- until Changbin asked, "Well? Why did you lie to us? Why did you sentence yourself to _death_ , Jisung?"

"It's my choice." Jisung said quietly. Changbin started to yell-- the volume of his voice raising, "You can't _do that_  to us! You can't just _choose_  to make us all grieve your death before it even happens! You can't _choose_  to leave us like that-- not when we all love you so much! Don't you know how much you mean to us? How _important_  you are? Don't you _feel it_ , Jisung? The flowers should remind you! Those are manifests of _our_  love-- which you would have known if you'd ever gone to visit your doctor again!"

Jisung frowned-- _what?_  he wondered. He voiced it, "Wh-- what?" and Changbin shook his head. More tears streamed down his face-- more, and more, "You don't have _eight_ flowers in your stomach from loving _one_  person, Jisung. You have eight flowers because _we_  love you, and you're oblivious to that. Sure, one of those flowers started because of a manifest of unrequited feelings but your tulips _changed color_ , Jisung. Don't you know what tulips mean when they're red? _Perfect love_. I _love_  you, Jisung-- and apparently our love is _perfect_ \-- and if that's not enough for you I don't know _what_  will be."

Jisung stared at him with an open mouth, tears forming in his eyes. Silence hung heavily between the two for some time, and then Jisung asked-- "How-- did you-- know--?"

"You doctor told me most of it." Changbin said. He wiped his eyes, "He asked me if any of the flowers had changed color. I'd noticed your tulips went from yellow to red. He said that was the person-- he said that person-- was your love. I remember when you said the tulips were for me, and-- hell, I know _I_ love _you_ \-- more than those other flowers could symbolize."

 _I love you_ , for the second time-- it sent Jisung hurling toward the floor. It sent him into a coughing fit in which he could hardly hold himself up, and he curled against the ground and cried, because his stomach cramped so badly he thought _this is it, the flower is going to kill me right as my love confesses to me-- I knew these damn things were evil_.

Changbin was next to him in a second, cradling his head and comforting him, "It's okay. It's normal-- this is supposed to happen-- when you realize-- when you realize my love, the flower-- it comes out--" and Changbin reached for a pillow on the couch and tucked it under Jisung's shoulder, and Jisung coughed up the petals-- blood ripping from his throat as the rough stem scratched around his mouth. Blood stained the carpet and Changbin's pants, and Changbin comforted him, "It's okay. It's okay-- sit up-- come on, I need you to sit up, you can't swallow too much blood--" and Changbin convinced Jisung to his hands and knees, and ran to grab a towel to soak up all the blood pouring from Jisung's lips. He brought Jisung to his feet, keeping the towel pressed to his mouth. He sat Jisung on the counter and managed to pour water into a cup with one hand-- managed to reach across the counter to toss that cup in the microwave. He finally let Jisung handle the towel on his own when he didn't actually need to-- because Changbin had both hands free, now; but all of his attention was on Jisung, and he brought Jisung forward with his palms-- tilted his head down by his temples and kissed his forehead, held his cheeks and told him, "It's over. It's over, now-- you're done."

Jisung couldn't speak. His throat was sore and there was a towel pressed to his mouth-- for five minutes more, until he rinsed his mouth and swallowed some water and showed Changbin he was no longer bleeding. Changbin took him back to the living room, sat him on the couch with his tea and made him promise to drink it all before he tried to speak. He cleaned the blood and gathered the petals and threw away the wicked stem and Jisung moved to help, but Changbin said "Stay right there," and Jisung said "But--" and Changbin picked up his tea, which was only half-gone, and looked at Jisung sternly, "You promised," and Jisung sank back into the couch and sipped his hot tea and Changbin was done by the time Jisung was finishing the last of it.

"The rose is going to _suck_." Jisung said, thinking of the thorns that might pierce his throat. Changbin laughed softly, catching on after a moment's thoughts, "The rose shouldn't have thorns. Who's the rose for?"

"Felix."

"Definitely no thorns." Changbin said. Jisung laughed a little, but found that it hurt and grimaced. His hand comforted his throat; but Changbin did it better when he leaned forward and kissed all around his neck and shoulders. Jisung coughed at the affection, and another tulip fell into his palm. He stuttered, "What-- the hell--?" but Changbin covered the petal with his palm, and pressed Jisung's hand down, "Some of the petals fall off of the flower while it's in your stomach. Don't worry-- you'll still cough them up for a while but they shouldn't be violent anymore--" and Changbin kissed him on the lips, and Jisung's heart jumped, scaring the petals away.

"I'll be with you when it happens, anyway." Changbin said. He pulled Jisung to him, and held him, and his lips pressed into Jisung's hair and he said, "I'm not letting you go through the rest of this alone."

 

 

 

 

 

Jisung coughed into his fist when his water went down the wrong way-- snorted down his throat suddenly from laughing, and Changbin soothed a hand over his back, still laughing at the joke Jeongin had told. A pink primrose petal caressed Jisung's hand at the end of his cough, and Hyunjin pointed to it, alarmed, "I thought you said you were done hacking those things up!"

"I am! But they all have to come out, still-- the flower doesn't just _vanish_." Jisung said. He leaned against Changbin's arm, "Wait until I start hacking up the stems and leaves-- and _roots_."

"I saw him hack up the last of Chan-hyung's sunflower the other day-- it was _not_  fun." Changbin said. Jisung looked at him, a laugh escaping his mouth. Changbin's fingers tapped along his back, "But they only come when you express your love for him-- so if he makes you mad, just be really loving, and you'll get to watch him hack up the rest of your flower."

" _Changbin!_ " Jisung said, slapping Changbin's shoulder. Changbin laughed in unison with everyone else, and pulled Jisung to him-- settled a kiss on his forehead and said, "I'm sorry, baby, I had to tell them," and _baby_  had Jisung's stomach lurching in such a pretty way, and he coughed a red tulip into his palm and told Changbin "I hate you," and Changbin laughed, and kissed his lips this time, and whispered "You don't mean that," and Jisung couldn't wait until his hacking would stop interrupting moments like these.

**Author's Note:**

> jisung's flower guide:
> 
> changbin  
> yellow tulips -- hopeless love  
> \+ red tulips -- perfect love
> 
> felix  
> yellow roses -- joy/protection
> 
> seungmin  
> white lilacs -- youthful/innocent
> 
> minho  
> pink snapdragons -- graciousness
> 
> woojin  
> white daisies -- innocence
> 
> chan  
> yellow sunflowers -- adoration
> 
> jeongin  
> pink primroses -- youth
> 
> hyunjin  
> white carnations -- luck


End file.
